


Echoing Thoughts

by HarpGuy



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-21
Updated: 2012-12-21
Packaged: 2017-11-21 21:31:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/602288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarpGuy/pseuds/HarpGuy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rose's mother has always tried to do the right thing for her daughter, but what went wrong?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Echoing Thoughts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [abyssalAnarchist (AbyssalAnarchist)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbyssalAnarchist/gifts).



NOW:

The keel of the boat scrapes through the sand of the beach, and you hop out before it has even stopped moving. You miscalculate slightly, and you land just in the water. Ripples spread through the iridescent water from your feet as you stagger slightly. Regaining your balance, you look up towards the purple ruins before you. You step forward, feet sinking into the sand slightly, and soon reach the steps of what must once have been a great temple. You carefully knock most of the sand from your shoes before returning your attention to the task at hand. The door to the temple is dark and forbidding, and cool air wafts up from the depths, making the ends of your scarf flutter limply behind you. You grit your teeth, cock your harpoon gun and step inside.

The catacombs are cold and damp, and the only light is a faint sourceless glow. You can see the outlines of doorways, columns and toppled statues, but little else. You don’t really know where you’re going, but you know what you’re looking for. You can hear it. Long, deep breaths. Whatever it is that lurks down here, it’s big. That’s no bad thing though; larger targets are easier to hit. This being has provoked you, and an irate Lalonde is a dangerous thing. Never mind what it is, you’re going to kill it. And then you’re going to kill the next giant monster that gets in the way of you or your daughter. You don’t mind that she’ll probably never know about your efforts. It’s enough for you to know that you tried to help her. You always tried to help her.

 

A LITTLE EARLIER:

As you sit on the counter in the empty kitchen, glass in hand, you stare at the cabinets before you. The cold white moonlight picks out all of the details in stark monochrome, and the house feels somewhat like a mortuary. You notice the light flashing off the coins that your daughter has slipped into the packet of fridge magnets that you bought her, and your thoughts take a more depressive turn. You wish you knew where it had all gone wrong between you and Rose. You know you’ve never been an exceptionally attentive parent (your work has always taken up more time than you would like), but she seems able to misconstrue any attempt at mothering you make. No matter what you try, she sees it as some sort of cunning belittlement scheme. You don’t know how you’ve managed to raise such an impressively paranoid child.   
You put the glass down and sigh, loosening the scarf around your neck a little. You’re beginning to feel stifled by the house and the statues around it. You like them, but on nights like this they feel somewhat creepy and unsettling. You shiver and hop down from the counter, grabbing your glass again as you do so. As soon as you have refilled the drink, you set off to the laboratory. You always feel safer down here, where you can be confident that everything is exactly as it seems; nothing you do here can bleed into your family life. Nothing has consequences. 

Except that’s not true, is it? Everything has consequences. Maybe your actions here don’t directly impact on your relationship with your daughter, but they definitely do indirectly. It’s not so much about what you do here as what you don’t do upstairs. You even sleep down here. You’re beginning to understand why she seems to think that everything you do is in mockery of her. After all, she never really sees you doing the things that normal mothers are meant to do, or even the things that normal people are meant to do. You sit down on your bed, pushing a wizard doll aside to make space, and take another sip of your drink. You don’t think you can cope any more. You can’t go on like this. In the short term, though, you need to clear your head. You drain the glass and set it down on the bedside cabinet before standing up again and setting off across the dark laboratory floor. Your footfalls echo in the cavernous space as you head towards the more experimental regions of the lab. 

 

SOME TIME EARLIER:

Face flushed with excitement and drink, you pull the lever and wait to see what happens. After a moment’s pause, there is a brief flash of light and in the spot on the engraved pad where the kitten once stood there is only a rapidly dissipating swirl of smoke. A soft mew sounds from the identical pad at the other side of the room, and a grin slowly spreads across your face. It worked! Your crazy idea actually worked! You run across the laboratory floor and pick up the tiny kitten, hugging it tightly to your chest in delight. This is possibly one of the greatest scientific discoveries of the century, and it’s yours! You can’t wait to publish your findings and watch the world change. “Lalonde” could soon become a name known by all of the greatest scientists across the world. After all, how many people can claim to have discovered something as seminal as teleportation? Of course, you’ll have to run some safety checks on the device before you publish.

Suddenly nervous, you hold the kitten (which continues to mew in confusion) up before your face, checking for any changes. Is the creature still the same? Is it healthy? You examine it closely, inspecting every inch of fluffy skin. You lower it gently to the floor, smiling at the animal. There doesn’t appear to be anything wrong with it. Of course, just because you can’t see anything wrong doesn’t mean there’s nothing wrong at all. You’ll have to keep an eye on it for a few weeks at least, if not a few months. That’s not a problem though. Rose has always wanted a cat, and you’ve always done your best to please her. After all, she’s a lot like you really, you think, and you would have wanted your requests indulged at that age. Now, where did you put that glass?


End file.
